


Welcome Home, Otousan!

by a_big_apple



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Car Sex, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-08
Updated: 2010-01-08
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_big_apple/pseuds/a_big_apple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After graduating from Ouran, Tamaki and Kyouya don't see each other as much as they would like--but when they do, they <i>really</i> make the best of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Home, Otousan!

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt for the kink meme!

Kyoya reads the email again, just to be sure he understands what it’s saying. He thinks it’s saying that Tamaki, after being gone nearly a month, is coming home. Three days earlier than expected. He reads it once more, lingering over the not-so-subtle farewell: “Otousan misses okaasan’s cock. <3 <3 ;D.”

Ten hours’ warning isn’t very much, but it just might be enough. Kyoya skims the email one more time, electricity tingling along his limbs and through his groin, then quickly signs out of the private email account he created just for this purpose. He snaps his laptop shut with a click and jabs the intercom button with a little more force than is necessary; his assistant answers with her usual speed. “Yes, sir?”

“Do you think,” Kyoya asks smoothly, trying to remain casual, “you’d be able to clear my schedule for the next three days? Something’s come up.”

“Will you be reachable, sir?”

“No.”

There’s a moment’s pause, then a triumphant “I’m sure I can arrange that for you, sir. Do you need me to book a car or accommodations?”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you.”

“Very good, sir.”

Kyoya hears the little click as the intercom shut off, and stares around his office for a moment, a wicked little smile creeping across his cheeks. Three whole days.

 

If there’s one thing Kyoya is good at, it’s secrecy. He had their backwoods hideaway built a few years ago, when the business world was still too new, and the pain of graduation and separation too fresh. He and Tamaki paid out of their own pockets for the construction and the land, and kept it out of all the books. It sits along a lake, for summer swimming; it has a large kotatsu for winter cozying, and a piano for anytime romancing. It has guest rooms for the only five people in the world, aside from Tama and Kyoya, who know it exists. Kyoya even knows it’s been cleaned and stocked with food—he’d seen to that himself just a week ago.

Kyoya leaves the office with a spring in his step that was so slight only his closest friends would have noticed it, and hurries home to bathe and shave with meticulous care. He packs himself a bag with just a few necessities, since they wouldn’t need clothes very much anyway, and when it’s time, he hails a commoner cab on the street to bring him to the airport.

 

Text message to: Tamaki

Yellow cab in the Intl Arrivals parking lot. Look for me.

 

Tamaki emerges right on time, rumpled and casual, with his hair flying wildly around his face. He looks nothing like a twenty-something businessman who’s been gone a month overseeing new ventures in Paris. Tamaki still looks, Kyoya thinks, like the breathtakingly beautiful boy he fell so unwillingly in love with at Ouran. Kyoya rolls down the window of the cab, but Tamaki spots him before he can call out. The blonde pauses, studying him for a moment, and then his face splits into a grin. “Okaasan!!”

Kyoya laughs and shoves the cab door open. “Stop shouting, you’ll cause a scene,” his mouth says, but his eyes say _I missed you. Welcome home._

Tamaki tosses his bags carelessly into the trunk and slides in beside Kyoya. “My stunning beauty causes a scene wherever I go,” his mouth replies, and his eyes say _I love you. It’s good to be back._

The cab driver asks “Where to?” but his eyes say _fucking rich people_ as the meter keeps on running.

 

Their hideaway is a good forty-five minute drive from the airport, and once Tamaki is sitting there beside him in the flesh, the trip seems even longer. For a while they just look at each other, Kyoya’s cool exterior and Tamaki’s angelic brightness, their fingers laced together on the seat between them. Still, Kyoya can feel Tamaki’s eyes peeling away the outer layers of his performance, seeing underneath it glimpses of the immediate future, flushed skin and fluttering eyelids and gasping drowning heat. His groin stirs gently, and he feels a sudden stab of stubbornness. Why should he have to wait even another minute to trail his fingers along Tamaki’s shivering limbs? To feel that velvety cock in his hand? He absolutely should not have to wait any longer. He can _not wait_ any longer, and he glances casually away as his hand leaves Tama’s to skitter along the blonde’s thigh.

Tamaki’s leg twitches involuntarily in response, and his hand covers Kyoya’s, his fingers asking _what are you doing? Now?_ and Kyoya just gazes out the window, feeling his way up Tamaki’s thigh and up under his untucked shirt to the warm skin of his stomach. The blonde’s delicate fingers follow him, not quite willing to submit to Kyoya’s daring yet; Kyoya pushes his glasses absently back up his nose, leaning his head against the taxi window, feigning boredom. Through the curtain of his dark hair he can feel Tamaki’s eyes, feel a hitch in his breath as silent fingers trail up his ribcage. As the city outside begins to give way to trees, Kyoya grazes his knuckles across Tamaki’s nipple, and the blonde lets out a single audible breath. Kyoya smiles at the sound; it says _I want you. I give in. I love this game._

Tamaki shifts his body with a casual air, as though settling in for a long journey, propping his knees against the seat back in front of them. He lets his hands fall, stretched languidly across the split and battered leather of the seat, and they twitch as Kyoya tweaks one nipple with his fingernails. 

“So, Tamaki,” Kyoya begins in polite tones, turning to look at him again, “tell me about your trip.” 

Startled, Tamaki glances over as Kyoya’s fingertips make swirling patterns across his chest and down his abdomen, tracing a line just beneath the waist of his slacks.

“Oh, well, it was mostly meetings. You know how those things go,” Tamaki replies, smiling lopsidedly. “A little wining and dining, a lot of money talk…maybe next time I should dress you up as me and send you in my place, Kyo.”

Kyoya chuckles, regarding Tamaki with the expression he reserves for his friend’s harebrained ideas. He slides his hand over Tamaki’s hip and into the warm crevice between his thighs. “You’d like to see that, wouldn’t you,” he murmurs, his voice darkening just a little. “A duplicate of you. Like the twins.”

“That could be a fun game,” Tamaki replies lightly, but his half-lidded eyes say _as fun as this one could be if you would just please touch me more…_ Kyoya chuckles softly and curls his palm over the growing bulge between Tamaki’s legs, tracing out the shape of his anatomy. The blonde’s breath catches and then evens out again, a little quicker than before, and he presses his thighs together to trap Kyoya’s hand there. “Though really I just want to use you for your brilliant business mind.”

“Mmm, is that all?” They fall silent then, Tamaki looking away this time, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth as Kyoya’s deft fingers tease him. Watching him out of the corner of his glasses, Kyoya slides the button of Tamaki’s slacks silently through its hole and tugs the zipper down tooth by tooth to keep it from sounding. “Did you do any sightseeing this time?” he asks genially when the zipper is fully down. He scrapes his fingernails over the front of Tama’s silky underwear, and is rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. “I know how you love the Louvre.” Kyoya tugs the silk down with one finger and Tamaki’s cock springs out at full attention. “Or the Eiffel Tower, perhaps?”

“Oh, I’ve seen those things so many times before,” the blonde replies breathlessly, tearing up a piece of the split seat covering with clenched fingers as Kyoya traces the delicate veins of his erection, the little jars and bumps of the taxi making moments of unexpectedly rough contact. Tamaki looks away forcefully and slumps farther down in the seat, pushing his hips up into Kyoya’s hand. Kyoya smiles; Tamaki’s body has always been too honest for subtle games like this, and his efforts to stay inconspicuous are sweet and searingly hot at once. He feels a bead of sweat roll down the small of his back, and his own slacks are feeling far too tight. He undoes them casually, allowing himself a small sigh of relief. Tamaki turns back again, raking his eyes down Kyoya’s shirt to his exposed and tented underwear, high color in his cheeks. The blonde turns his face up and their eyes meet again; Tamaki’s are hooded and dark with need, and Kyoya has to break away before he loses his cool entirely. 

Those eyes fluster him enough that he falls silent again, changing over to the wordless language of his palm sliding over Tamaki’s balls, of a fingertip pressed down and in up to the first knuckle. Tamaki splays his knees apart against the divider in front of him, catching a whimper behind closed lips and turning it into tuneless humming. Kyoya tries to look out the window, look anywhere but at Tamaki sprawled so indecently just out of the driver’s view, flushed and breathing so fast, but he can’t quite manage it; his eyes are drawn to the tendrils of hair that stick to the back of Tamaki’s neck, the curve of his limber back, his limbs languid but his fists clenched. Kyoya does not play the piano, but he still has dextrous hands; as the tip of one finger slides teasingly in and out, he skims the edge of his thumb along the underside of Tamaki’s cock. The tuneless humming spikes and then slows again, a little trembly.

Kyoya knows, from the white look of Tamaki’s knuckles and the bobbing of his adam’s apple when he swallows, that they won’t be able to go much further without drawing the driver’s attention. Still, the throbbing in his chest and his groin don’t keep time with common sense, and he withdraws his finger to close his hand around Tamaki, catching a glistening droplet from the tip with his thumb.

Tamaki moans outright, disguising it as a noisy yawn, and stretches his arms above his head. “Kyoya!” he says breathlessly, and then louder, for the driver’s benefit, “I’m sooo tired.”

“Must be the jet lag,” Kyoya replies, his voice still cool as ever, slowly pumping Tamaki’s cock. The blonde moan-yawns again, a singularly erotic sound that makes Kyoya’s hips twitch in spite of himself. And then Tamaki does the last thing Kyoya expects. He fake-stretches once more, then scoots sideways under Kyoya’s arm to lay his head in the brunette’s lap.

Completely hidden from view now, Tamaki nuzzles his face against Kyoya’s briefs, and the brunette squeezes his cock in surprise. This time Tamaki disguises his cry as a cough and tugs Kyoya’s underwear roughly down, closing his mouth around the freed erection in swift revenge. 

Kyoya gives a little shout of surprise; his eyes meet the driver’s in the rear view mirror, and he snaps his fingers in feigned frustration. “Forgot to pack my toothbrush,” he tells the driver. “Oh well.”

“You want me to stop at a store?” the driver asks as Tamaki’s tongue slides with wanton daring over Kyoya’s cock. Kyoya pumps the blonde faster by reflex and shakes his head at the driver.

“No, that won’t be neccess—”

There’s a sudden jolt as the taxi bounces into a pothole and out again, and a _POP!_ that Kyoya knows can’t be good, and suddenly that sweet hot mouth surrounding him withdraws, coughing. The driver hits the brake, swerving over to the roadside, cursing to himself as he gets out to survey the damage.

“ _Merde_ ,” Tamaki spits out, sitting up.

Kyoya tries to bring his racing heart back under control. “Blew a tire, I bet. Dammit!”

Through the window they see the driver shaking his head and punching buttons on his cell phone, pacing around trying to get a signal. Kyoya sighs, a little trembly, and rolls down his window. “You won’t get a signal out here—do you have a spare?”

The driver bows apologetically. “No, I’m very sorry, I don’t.”

Tamaki curses again, but Kyoya looks around, taking in their surroundings, and pulls out his wallet. “Here,” he says curtly, holding out a folded wad of bills to the driver. “Half a mile down the road there’s little shrine. They should have a phone in the office. Please call us another cab, and keep the change.”

A bit hesitantly, the driver takes the folded bills. He glances at them, calculating, then back at the flushed cheeks and darkened eyes of the two men in the car, then up the road in the direction Kyoya pointed. “Thank you very much, sir,” he says, pocketing the bills, and sets off looking just slightly harried.

Kyoya watches him go, gears turning in his head. “At his pace, I’d say we have about half an hour—” 

“Kyoya.” He turns; Tamaki is sprawled along the seat with his shoulders against the door, his pants pooled around his ankles, legs splayed indecently wide to expose the quivering expanse of his inner thighs and his taut, clenched cheeks. The sheer unexpected lasciviousness of it takes Kyoya’s breath away.

“Tamaki…”  
“This isn’t just for show, you know.”

That marks the end of Kyoya’s cool; with a little growl he throws himself on the blonde, kissing him bruisingly. “Tamaki…you were gone too long this time. Okaasan doesn’t like it.”

The blonde locks his arms around Kyoya, fingers digging into his sides. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry, okaasan.” Tamaki arches up against him, sobbing softly at the friction of their cocks. “Please…”

Kyoya presses his face into the curve of Tamaki’s neck with a groan and lifts his hand to trace the blonde’s lips. Tamaki, with not-so-gentle teeth, nips his fingers and sucks them into his mouth; Kyoya takes the cue and withdraws them a moment later, reaching down between them to press one finger, then two, then three roughly inside him.

“Ah! Ah, Kyoya…it’s been…a while…”

The brunette slides the other hand around the back of Tamaki’s neck, cradling him close with contradictory tenderness, biting his earlobe and murmuring softly. “There’s no time to be gentle, otousan. Consider this your punishment.”

“Yes…yes, okaasan…”

Quickly, probably too quickly, Kyoya slides his fingers out and presses the tip of his cock, still slick with Tamaki’s saliva, to the entrance. Tamaki’s breath is fast and shallow, and he nods just once, quickly. Kyoya catches his lips in a fierce kiss, pushing into him with careful, inorexable force, and cries out into Tamaki’s mouth at the tightness of him, the incredible heat.

Tamaki’s head presses back against the window, his eyes flying open, his mouth a tight and silent “o.” Kyoya holds him tightly, and it takes everything he has to keep still, throbbing and hard with Tamaki clenched around him. “Kyoya,” Tamaki whines softly, pressing his face to the brunette’s shoulder. “I forgot…how it hurts.”

“Shh,” Kyoya tells him softly, kissing his hair. They stay that way for a long moment, until Tamaki’s breathing deepens and his tensed shoulders relax; Kyoya knows without being told, and slowly pulls back and pushes into him again.

This time Tamaki’s cry is more pleasure than pain, a soft, high sound that drives Kyoya mad; with increasing speed he rocks against him, and Tamaki grips him with hands and knees, driving him deeper. His glasses slip a little down his sweaty nose, and Tamaki’s face becomes a blur of yellow hair and flushed skin and delicious cries that seem to surround them in the cramped back seat. “T-touch…nng! Touch me, okaasan…” Kyoya wraps his hand obligingly around Tamaki’s cock, falling into a rhythm with hand and hips that makes them both moan. The blonde’s hands skitter over Kyoya’s body, unable to settle anywhere, until Kyoya hits just the right angle and Tamaki bucks up against him, seeing stars. “There, oh, there, Kyoya, _Kyoya_ …”

Then through his haze Kyoya sees it, the little furrow of Tamaki’s brows that means he’s close, and he bites down hard on his shoulder, picking up the pace. He won’t last much longer—but neither will Tamaki. “Come for me, otousan,” Kyoya rumbles against his skin, and the blonde gasps, gripping him hard enough to bruise.

“Say my name,” Tamaki’s mouth says, and the flutter of his heart against Kyoya’s chest says _tell me you love me_.

“Tamaki,” he murmurs, pumping him hard. “Tamaki.” He presses his chest flush to the blonde’s, his heartbeat thumping _I love you, I love you, I love you_ , and all at once Tamaki throws his head back and screams like a host club fangirl and comes hard, shaking and spilling explosively between them, and the scream is just so _Tamaki_ that Kyoya follows a moment after, pushing into him as tremors shake his limbs. 

When the world stops spinning and they can barely move anymore, Kyoya pushes his glasses up his slick nose. He kisses Tamaki’s panting mouth, his delicate eyelids, his high cheekbones, and Tamaki returns them blindly, smiling. “The driver will be back soon.”

“Did we make a mess?”

Kyoya glances around consideringly. “Not too bad. You managed to hit the window, though.” He reaches over Tamaki’s head to wipe a sticky splotch from the glass, and licks it from his finger as though it were a delicacy. 

Tamaki’s got his eyes open again now and watches him do it, and smiles, brushing Kyoya’s lank hair back from his face. “You’re a sweaty mess, though.”

“You too.”

“Let’s take a bath when we get to the cottage. A sexy bath.”

“I think that can be arranged.”


End file.
